


nomenclature.

by earthworms



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Kissing, M/M, Marriage, Married Couple, Name Changes, Pet Names, Texting, Wedding Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29128146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthworms/pseuds/earthworms
Summary: The name is so familiar to him, woven into every memory he has.Oikawaoverlaying everything,Oikawathe centrifugal force of Hajime’s solar system. But for all the hundreds upon thousands of times he’s spoken it, it has never tasted quite like this on his tongue.hajime and tooru enjoy all the perks of being newlyweds (namely, being in love and annoying their friends)
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	nomenclature.

**Author's Note:**

> hajime takes tooru's surname i just KNOW he does anyway i got very upset about it and yes u may thank the bonus scene at the end of pride and prejudice (2005) for this x

Tooru is the most breathtaking thing to exist in this world, Hajime thinks. This isn’t news, of course, because Tooru has been some variation of beautiful as long as Hajime has known him. At four Tooru was cute, with his round cheeks and toothy smiles. At twelve Tooru was pretty, growing into his gangly height and his messy hair. At eighteen Tooru was handsome, when he posed for photos and when he fell asleep, head back and mouth hung open, on Hajime’s couch. At twenty-three Tooru was gorgeous, loose-limbed and easy-eyed and spread across every inch of their apartment.

Hajime has been admiring Tooru, whether consciously or not, for the better part of twenty-five years, but here and now—tie undone and shirt hanging open, hair spilling out from half a braid to hold it back from his forehead, bent over in the stark refrigerator light—Hajime is willing to bet Tooru has _never_ looked better.

“Iwa-chan, are you hungry?” Tooru asks, straightening up. He leans heavily against the fridge door and, when he turns his head, Hajime can only make out half his grin in the light.

“I don’t think you can call me that anymore,” Hajime says instead of answering.

It gets Tooru’s attention effectively enough. He lets the door handle slip out of his grasp and it swings shut, casting the kitchen into complete darkness again, so Hajime reaches behind him to flick on the overhead light.

“What do you mean I can’t call you that? I always call you that.”

Hajime laughs because it’s true, because Tooru has always been beautiful and he has always loved Hajime, and because Hajime has always savoured the sound of his name on Tooru’s lips. He knows the expression softens his features into something open and honest, but he doesn’t mind because Tooru knows, he _knows,_ and Hajime isn’t hiding anything anymore.

He reaches for Tooru’s hand without thinking and Tooru offers it to him just as easily, even though he’s still worrying his eyebrows at Hajime. Hajime cups Tooru’s palm around his cheek, brushing his thumb over the ring and feeling the cool metal press into his skin on the other side.

“Because, silly,” he pauses to tilt his lips against the inside of Tooru’s wrist and speaks the rest of the words into his skin, “that’s not my name anymore.”

Hajime slides his other hand against Tooru’s waist now that they’re close enough, just because he can. Because he is allowed. Because they are in their own kitchen, in their own house, and it is four in the morning and this moment is all _theirs_. Tooru feathers the fingers of his right hand across Hajime’s forearm, where he has rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt to the elbow and exposed the bare skin underneath. Hajime closes his eyes and kisses Tooru’s wrist once more.

“Oikawa Hajime,” Tooru whispers. Hajime’s forearms riddle with goosebumps and he smiles into Tooru’s skin.

“Oikawa Hajime and Oikawa Tooru,” he says.

“The Oikawas,” Tooru says and digs his fingers into Hajime’s arm.

Hajime slits his eyes open, because he can feel Tooru’s gaze on him, and grips his waist tighter in return.

“The Oikawas,” he agrees.

The name is so familiar to him, woven into every memory he has. _Oikawa_ overlaying everything, _Oikawa_ the centrifugal force of Hajime’s solar system. But for all the hundreds upon thousands of times he’s spoken it, it has never tasted quite like this on his tongue.

 _Oikawa_ has always felt like his, because Tooru belonged to Hajime before either of them ever knew it. But now— _here_ and now—he is living so completely inside the name. _Oikawa Hajime._ It is his, it is theirs.

Tooru taps his fingers against Hajime’s elbow and slides his other hand from his face, around the back of his neck. He draws Hajime forwards until he can wrap both arms around him, one at his waist and the other across his shoulders. Hajime sighs and presses his forehead against Tooru’s collarbone. They’ve been awake for far too long, but he isn’t ready to sleep, not just yet. He wants to live in this quiet moment, this one fleeting point in time in which the world belongs only to them, for just a little longer.

“I _can_ still call you Iwa-chan though, right?” Tooru asks directly into Hajime’s ear.

Hajime pretends to think about it, but they both know it’s a front. For once, Tooru doesn’t call his bluff.

“Only when you are so perfectly happy you can’t hold onto it,” he says, his voice all breath. Tooru curls further into him to hear. “Only if you say it with all the love that you have for me.”

He can hear the smile when Tooru says, “That’s how I always say it.”

“I know.”

Hajime lets his eyes fall closed once more and breathes in the scent of sweat and champagne and musky cologne lingering on Tooru’s skin. He is still warm and flushed from spending most of the night dancing, pressed between members of their high school volleyball team and in his mother’s arms and, more often than not, chest to chest with Hajime in their own little world. For once, no one begrudged them their public infatuation, the way their whole universe started and stopped with one another and had done for twenty-five years.

Hajime is starting to doze upright, Tooru swaying them gently like they’re still on the dancefloor, when his husband interrupts him.

“Baby,” he whispers, his breath curling around the shell of Hajime’s ear, “are you hungry?”

Hajime grumbles and clings onto Tooru’s shirt, forcing himself to lift his head and blink his eyes open. The kitchen light is too bright all of a sudden and he squeezes them shut again, squinting at Tooru in the smidgen of a gap he leaves open.

Tooru laughs and kisses his nose and says, “I’m starving.”

“How can you be starving?” Hajime asks. He wants to tip his head back into Tooru’s shoulder, fall asleep wrapped up in Tooru’s arms, but Tooru is already peeling away to dig through the fridge once more. “We’ve eaten an obscene amount of cake.”

“Yeah, but that’s all I’ve eaten in about forty-eight hours. _Someone_ was too busy clinging to me to let me enjoy our dinner. And after I picked out such a good caterer too!”

Hajime shrugs. _He’d_ managed to alternate shovelling food into his mouth and kissing his husband well enough.

“Are you going to be long? I’m exhausted and we have a flight tomorrow,” Hajime says, as Tooru starts pulling jars out of the fridge.

Tooru sets the butter down on the counter and reaches for Hajime again, and Hajime follows instinctively. Tooru cups a hand around the back of his neck and tilts his head up to press a kiss to Hajime’s forehead.

“Go to bed, Iwa-chan,” he says with his lips against Hajime’s hairline. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

As much as Hajime wants to stay forever in this kitchen, where nothing exists but him and Tooru, he’s not sure he trusts his legs to keep him upright for very much longer. So he does as he’s told and makes his way slowly up to their bedroom, kicking out of his mostly disassembled tux and crawling underneath the covers. He curls onto his side to face the dip in the mattress where Tooru usually sleeps and twists the band around his ring finger, smiling into the dark.

He’s still awake twenty minutes later when Tooru tiptoes into the room, smelling of honey and mint. He is more careful than Hajime, folding his shirt and slacks neatly on top of their dresser, combing out his hair, and pausing in front of the mirror to rub Bio Oil into the scars on his chest before getting changed.

“Hurry up,” Hajime says when his patience gives out and Tooru flinches, having assumed Hajime was already asleep.

He holds up the oil and asks, “Did you do yours?”

“No,” Hajime mumbles and pulls the duvet over his mouth to muffle the words. He’s _tired_ , he’ll do it in the morning.

Tooru, predictably, doesn’t accept that answer. He crawls across the mattress and kneels over Hajime’s stomach, tugging at the bottom of his singlet until he pulls it up under his chin. He rubs the lotion between his palms and massages it over the twin smiling scars on Hajime’s chest. Once he’s finished, he pulls the singlet back down, wiping off the excess oil into the material just to be annoying, and rolls over onto his side of the bed.

Hajime, already filled with bone-deep exhaustion, is warm and loose and he can feel consciousness slipping out of his grasp. He’s half asleep when he feels Tooru pat across his stomach and over the mattress on the other side of his body until he finds Hajime’s left hand and tugs it towards his own, lying on the pillow between their heads. He presses their palms together, hooking their thumbs around one another and squeezing.

“Hajime,” he whispers. “Hajime, we did it.”

“Mhm.” Hajime tugs their joined hands closer so he can brush his lips over Tooru’s knuckles. “Did it, baby. Love you.”

He hears Tooru laugh, hears the softness in his voice when he says, “I love you too, Oikawa Hajime”, and feels his warm breath when he leans over to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Hajime’s lips. And it’s all the permission Hajime needs to tuck his chin protectively over their left hands and give in to his exhaustion.

.

.

.

**Group Chat: _rule the fckn court 2k12 rest in peas SHINJI STOP CHANGING IT_ (9 members)**

captain’s sidepiece: hey oikawa

captain: yes?

trophy husband: yes?

captain’s sidepiece: haha

sidepiece’s sidepiece: that joke wasnt even funny the first time

The Lovechild: I thought it was a little funny

captain’s sidepiece: this is why no one likes u shigeru

The Lovechild: WTF

captain: WTF

trophy husband: its not a jk its literally my name?

trophy husband: b mre specific makki

captain’s sidepiece: u know who i meant!!!

captain’s sidepiece: sorry i should have said hey Oikawa Tooru, born 20 July 1994, 185.5cm, former captain of Aoba Johsai VBC, current pain in my fuckin arse

trophy husband: thx much clearer now

captain’s sidepiece: i hate u

captain: u also could have said hey babe ;)

trophy husband: no they cldnt

captain: okay

sidepiece’s sidepiece: why do u know oikawa’s height off the top of ur head

captain’s sidepiece: he told me yesterday

captain’s sidepiece: apparently he grew 2mm

captain: i did!!

sidepiece’s sidepiece’s bastard son: congrats

captain: ??? thank u?????

sidepiece’s sidepiece’s bastard son: oh i thought they meant the other oikawa nvm fuck u

captain: i?????

captain’s sidepiece: LMFAO KYOUTANI

The Lovechild: Kentarou!

sidepiece’s sidepiece’s bastard son: bark bark growl

adopted bald rat: this group chat is a fucking nightmare!

captain: SHINJI DONT FUCKING SWEAR

adopted bald rat: BARK

sidepiece’s sidepiece’s bastard son: BARK

sidepiece’s sidepiece: THE NEXT PERSON WHO SPEAKS DOG IN THE CHAT IS GETTING KICKED

captain: BARK

captain: WAIT I DIDNT READ THAT

 **_sidepiece’s sidepiece_ ** **removed _captain_ from the conversation.**

trophy husband: peace was nvr an option.


End file.
